


Holy Oil!

by rosie_berber



Series: I'm Like Oscar the Grouch. I Live in a Trash Can. [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: At Least I Like Crowley, Blasphemy, Hand Jobs, Hurt Dean Winchester, I'm Going to Hell, M/M, Massage, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Nurse Castiel, Nurturing Castiel, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Prostate Massage, Prostate Milking, Shameless Smut, Smut, holy oil, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-13
Updated: 2016-08-13
Packaged: 2018-08-08 11:06:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7755292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosie_berber/pseuds/rosie_berber
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A really short exercise in smut. Dean returns to Lebanon after the events of "Baby." Castiel wants to nurse him back to health in the best way he knows how. Hint: it's through sexy times!</p><p>If I wasn't going to hell before this fic, my space has definitely been reserved now.</p><p>In the same universe as all of these other trashy fics, where Dean and Cas just engage in filthy, filthy things. Because of their profound bond.</p><p>I am such utter trash for this ship. I hope I'm not alone?</p><p>I have a <a href="http://rosie-berber.tumblr.com/">tumblr</a> and I don't know how to use it!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Holy Oil!

 

The Winchesters limped back towards Lebanon, the Impala somehow managing to make it back to the bunker in one (incredibly damaged) piece. Normally, Castiel’s ears could pick up the car’s distinctive purr from down the road. As it approached the bunker, however, the Impala was wheezing pained gasps, each part of its body seemingly in worse shape than the last, not unlike its occupants. The werepire case left them all worse for the wear, desperately in need of hot showers and warm beds. And whiskey, copious amounts of whiskey, to numb the ache of the abrasions courtesy of the makeshift monster militia.

 

Castiel enters the garage as he hears steel hitting steel, over and over again.

 

“Fucking werepires, hurting Baby like this. Ganking those sons of bitches was too good for them, after what they did to you.”

 

Dean continues to attempt to close the front door of the Impala two more times before forfeiting, making promises to “make things right” to the inanimate object.

 

The tenderness is too much to bear for Castiel, warm feelings of elation at Dean’s return rushing from his head to his toes. He grins widely at the two brothers as he approaches them, surveying the damage to flesh and fiberglass. His joy is short-lived, quickly morphing into concern for the brothers’ well-being. If he was back to full power, he could easily heal each and every wound. He tries to muster up his grace only to feel it rescind inward, still healing the damage the curse had caused.

 

If he cannot provide celestial relief, he will do his damndest to provide other creature comforts to get the two back on their feet. But not until he delivers a stern lecture.

 

“A few scrapes and bruises.” Castiel mimics the drawl of Dean’s voice, clearly displeased at the hunter downplaying the damage. His fingers instinctively reach for the wide gash above the man’s right eye. “These are not scrapes and bruises. You need stitches.”

 

“Nice to see you too, Cas. Well, if we are going to play field medic, I’m going to need be entirely more intoxicated than I am now. Whatya say, Sammy? Catch up with our friends Jim, Jack, and Jose?”

 

Sam smirks, humouring his brother’s dad joke. “Sounds like a plan, Dean. Right after I wash the stench of twenty-four hours in the Impala with you and splattered monster guts off me. So, four hours, five hours tops,” he jokes, his hand delivering a hard slap to Dean’s back, a grimace quickly finding itself across his older brother’s face.

 

“Don’t use up all the hot water, bitch!” Dean cries out after his brother, already pummeling towards the bunker’s bathroom.

 

Castiel takes the opportunity to further chastise Dean for his lack of honesty regarding his injuries, taking an inventory of the lacerations and contusions on the hunter’s face and hands, his mind already jumping to conclusions what the rest of his body must look like.

 

“Cas, quit it! It’s not your job to patch me up. I’ll live,” Dean insists, rolling his eyes at Castiel’s annoyed expression.

 

The angel stops squarely in front of the hunter, grasping both of his shoulders, noting the wince he gets when his fingers graze the left deltoid too tightly. “But Dean, playing the role of your nurse does fill me with a deep sense of satisfaction. _Deep_.” His eyebrows raise to draw attention to the entendre.

 

“I think I would.” Castiel pauses, placing a light kiss on Dean’s forehead.

 

“Very much.” His lips press against Dean’s cheekbone, coloured light purple.

 

“Like to.” The words fall from his lips just before they find their way to the crook of Dean’s neck.

 

“Kiss you.” He laps his tongue along Dean’s chin.

 

“To make it all better.” His lips finally make their way to push against Dean’s own, leaving a soft, chaste kiss that has Dean moan in a way that is decidedly neither soft nor chaste.

 

Suddenly, playing doctor seems like a damn good idea.

 

xxxxx

 

Castiel pours a tumbler filled with the amber liquid for Dean and carries it to the room, feeling himself aroused by the simple act of locking the door behind him. Dean is sitting at the bed’s edge, boots and socks kicked to the side, wiggling his toes against the ground.

 

“Look Cas! My feet are in perfect condition. I wasn’t lying!”

 

It is now Castiel’s turn to roll his eyes.

 

“Hey, don’t steal my moves, man!”

 

Castiel hands the glass of whiskey to Dean, happy to now have two unoccupied hands. The hunter finishes its contents in one long sip, then showing his gratitude with a kiss pressed firmly against Castiel’s lips, a kiss that tastes sweet and smoky.

 

“Let’s just see how many other parts of your body have faired as well as your feet,” Castiel declares, his hands moving to slowly slip the bloodied plaid from Dean’s shoulders. His fingers lightly graze down Dean’s arms, mourning the cuts and contusions along the way. While those things do not make Castiel happy, the goosebumps his fingers are leaving in their wake are an entirely different matter. So much so that he shoots a cocky grin towards Dean, one that doesn’t need words to say _Look what my touch does to you, I dare you._

 

“Shut up Cas.”

 

“I didn’t say anything, Dean.” No sooner has Castiel pleaded his innocence than his hands find leather and metal, quickly unbuckling Dean’s belt, soon leaving a pool of denim at Dean’s feet.

 

The angel licks his lips. “Glad to see there is another part of you that managed to come out unscathed,” his palm hovering, ever so slightly grazing Dean’s burgeoning erection.

 

Dean gasps, suddenly feeling very, extremely, gloriously exposed. “I don’t know, maybe you need to take a closer look, just to make sure.”

 

“That would be diligent, wouldn’t it?” the angel responds, no sign of heaven in his voice.

 

xxxxx

 

Dean’s boxer briefs and t-shirt have soon joined his flannel and jeans on the floor. He is commanded to lie down on the bed while Castiel makes preparations, bringing a washcloth, a container of warm water, a small flask of oil. The water is soon dyed crimson, Dean’s wounds mended and cared for, the cloth working its way softly across every lesion. The hunter is uncharacteristically unargumentative - there are no jokes to deflect, no shame in this vulnerability. Dean allows himself to be nurtured, and Castiel feels unspeakably lucky to be the one who has been granted that privilege.

 

The first act is so sacred that the qualms Castiel may have had about its encore are left by the wayside. He pours a small amount of the fragrant oil from the terracotta jug, coating his hands before moving them to the small of Dean’s back, straddling himself across the back of Dean’s thighs. The sweet scent of cinnamon and myrrh soon finds itself coating the length of Dean’s legs and arms, coaxing sweet whimpers from the man’s lips.

 

“Mmmmmm...what is that?” Dean finally asks, in a gloried daze.

 

“Holy oil,” Castiel responds, seeking no refuge from the act, his hands massaging out each knot of tension they find before lathering themselves once more.

 

“Wait...what? Holy oil - like - wait, what?! That stuff is … _precious_ , isn’t it?” The adjective uncomfortably forces its way into Dean’s speech. Always a hunter, always a pragmatist, never prone to waste.

 

Castiel readily meets the hunter’s worries with reassurance. “Indeed it is. It is reserved for sacred acts and for worship. And Dean Winchester, I fully intend to worship your body into oblivion,” Castiel whispers breathily, his lips hovering just over Dean’s ear.

 

xxxxx

 

Dean soon finds himself in a position decidedly not for missionaries. But his pose is one not unlike genuflection. On his knees, his palms pressed firmly against the sheets, fingers grasping at cotton, face buried into his pillow, muttering prayers of thanks.

 

With one well-oiled hand, Castiel grips Dean’s cock tightly, while the other draws soft circles around his entrance, earning the trust to be admitted. One reverent finger slowly works its way in, Dean muttering out blasphemies at the pleasurable intrusion. Like a shepherd looking for one of his lost flock, Castiel’s finger searches for a spot, patiently, purposefully, with stoic resolve.

 

“Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuck,” Dean cries out. Castiel no longer wanders, for he has found Dean’s promised land. Dean bucks into Castiel’s divinely lubricated hold while the angel endeavours to allow another of his fingers to work their way into Dean, two fingers tapping on his prostate with each and every thrust. His mouth finds itself pressed against Dean’s shoulder blade, nipping at an expanse of untainted skin, contributing another bruise to Dean’s battered body.

 

With his guardian angel whispering words of worship, Dean meets his heaven shortly after.

 

**Author's Note:**

> [I feel like the Dean. Might have gone too far this time.](https://youtu.be/UguTqowzvZQ)
> 
>  
> 
> Hell hell hell, I'm going to hell, hell, hell!


End file.
